"Look at me, girl."
His eyes pierced my soul as sharply as his fingers pinched my nipples. Our eyes met. I climbed to my toes, straining against the cuffs that held my arms suspended over head.
"Don't even think about looking away."
The pain took my breath away...and made me wet.
He released me, and I collapsed forward, suspended by the rope and the cuffs. My body swayed. Sweat covered my skin. Strands of hair stuck to my forehead, covering my eyes.
His hand came around my throat. There was no need for him to tighten his grip. Just the feeling of his hand there made my breath catch. He held me steady as his hand pummeled my ass.
My flesh jumped and jiggled. I arched my back. I danced on my toes. I moaned, barely able to hear myself over the pounding music.
I knew we were watched. I reveled in the idea of an audience. Let me show you how this is done. As soon as the thought slipped in, the cane made me forget everything.
The pain was blinding, fiery, and cleansing. I trembled from the force of the impact as much as from the endorphins slamming through my entire body. I squealed and cried.
"Give me a color, girl." His voice was hard. I melted even more.
"Green," I whispered through gritted teeth. I would take whatever he could give tonight.
Paddles, floggers, Wartenberg wheel, cane, fists - they all made contact with my body. The burning pain was soothing. The agony washing away every negative thought.
I spread my arms wide, desperate to give him access to every part of my body, as if to say, "Here I am. Take what I offer."
And he did.
It was a cleansing of both our souls.
The blows rained down on my body, fast and brutal. I don't remember the pain, not now. I remember the connection. I remember the fire. I remember pressing my ass into his crotch on the middle of the dungeon floor, writhing against him, daring him to do his worst...or his best.
All too soon, it was over. I only reached the outermost walls of the subspace I craved. My body was loose and boneless; my mind was still in the present, fully functioning. Our bodies heaved as we gulped precious air. Short and over too soon but no less intense, maybe more so given the direction of our lives recently.
Did I want more? Yes. Would I have taken more? Oh, yes. He stopped, he says, because I began to shake like I do when the endorphins overwhelm me - a sign to him that I'm done, even when I won't admit it. But I know he was also afraid of really hurting me, causing actual damage. He hit me harder than ever before, and I took it, laughed about it, and dared him to give me more.
And I would do it again in a heartbeat.